


i hope we all die

by silverhedges



Series: the zodiac signs as: drama [3]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Blow Jobs, Double Penetration, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spitroasting, Trans Ging Freecs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 15:54:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17511512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverhedges/pseuds/silverhedges
Summary: In which Mizaistom just wants to escape from a party and ends up with more trouble than it’s worth.





	i hope we all die

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely set in the same universe as 'in sickness and in health', in that Mizai and Ging have definitely slept together before.

It is easy enough for Mizaistom to slip away from the party. Despite being a Zodiac and a tall, well-built man, he is well-learned in how to hide his presence. That comes in handy when being the strong and silent bodyguard for a ditzy party girl (in his early career) and it comes in handy now when he needs to escape the party. It is not that he is tending towards Ging’s levels of antisocialism or that he isn’t smooth enough to small talk high ranking politicians all night. Mizaistom is a busy man with many plates to juggle and he would prefer some time alone to think about the thirteen legal cases he’s balancing right now.

The party is at a marble mansion out in the country, overlooking a private lake and hidden deep within a lush forest. The night has already drawn in. Mizaistom slips away from the ballroom to wander through the corridors, on his guard in case he’s asked to return to a secure area. Ducking into what appears to be a dark and abandoned receiving room, he heads for the balcony doors.

Once outside, he can rest his arms on the thick, chest-height balcony and breathe in the fresh air.

Mizaistom values being a Zodiac and his formal suit bearing a cow-patterned tie attests to it. There is a difference between valuing being a Zodiac and being able to bear the company of the other Zodiacs for an extended period of time. If it was primarily him and Cheadle, lacking Cluck and _Pariston_ above all others, it would be fine.

“My, my, my, what do I find here? Don’t tell me you have a smoking habit, Mizai. That’s very unlike you.”

Mizaistom grits his teeth. His annoyance has followed him, like an ankle chain and ball. “It’s Mizaistom to you, Pariston.”

He turns around to find Pariston waiting by the balcony doors, half-hidden in the dark, that ever present smile on his face. The moonlight leaves his tacky and blindingly colourful suit in shades of black and white. It feels wrong to be left alone with Pariston. Mizaistom is very tempted to call Cheadle. Pariston is smiling at him like a cat who’s been locked in a room with a mouse.

“I’m almost hurt! I thought we knew each other well enough by now to have the privilege of calling you Mizai.” Pariston takes a step towards him. Mizaistom finds that his back is against the balcony. “Whatever can I do to get you know you better?”

Mizaistom sighs.

Then, instead of letting Pariston finish whatever ridiculous excuse he’s setting up for touching Mizai, he thinks: _at least I can kiss that smirk off his face._ Mizaistom leans forward, hands settling on Pariston’s waist, to do exactly that. Pariston ends up smiling against Mizai’s insistent mouth.

Paris has his usual routine: hands on the either side of Mizaistom’s face, straight to tongue kissing, a thigh nudged inbetween Mizaistom’s legs. The thought of how he’s growing accustomed to way Pariston kisses infuriates Mizaistom further. So he undoes Pariston’s blazer with his hands while they kiss. Might as well make the Rat look as fucked-up on the outside as Mizaistom knows he is on the inside.

They break their kiss to gasp for air – Mizaistom, anyway, because Pariston is just laughing into Mizaistom’s neck as he trails kisses down that sensitive skin. Mizaistom bites his lip, focusing on tugging Pariston’s shirt out of his trousers so that he both looks more undone and gives Mizaistom room to run his hands under his shirt and over the jumping skin of his stomach.

“You,” Pariston murmurs against his neck, both hands in Mizaistom’s hair, “are so much worse than everyone thinks you are, aren’t you?”

Mizaistom scowls at him, because he hates this. Hates being alone with Pariston, knowing that being caught here like this would mean they would be associated with each other. Hates whatever Pariston is trying to do to him, as if being close physically means anything about the state of Mizaistom’s emotions. Hates the way he inadvertently gasps when Pariston grinds his thigh against Mizai, because he’s _hard_ already. For this sick Rat bastard.

Pariston grinds against him again and when Mizaistom looks at him, he’s smiling viciously even with spit-slick lips. “Looks like someone likes me more than they’re willing to admit,” Pariston says soft, almost sing-song. “Isn’t that right, Mizai?”

Mizaistom yanks on Pariston’s glittery tie in order to kiss him. They kiss for a while, harshly, a battle of tongues. _What am I getting out of this?_ Mizai finds himself thinking, breathing in Pariston’s overpowering cologne and knowing it will rub off on him, _why am I doing this?_

The answer presents itself when Pariston breaks off, wipes his mouth with a star-patterned handkerchief and drops to his knees.

Looking down at Pariston on his knees, with those large dark eyes and fuckable lips, Mizaistom has to admit that, oh, yes: Pariston Hill is the prettiest of the Zodiacs.

It doesn’t stop his whole body going tense as a string when Pariston slides Mizaistom’s cock into his mouth or the ragged gasps from his mouth. Mizaistom would feel bad doing this to anyone else – him! The conscious of the Zodiacs, the upright moral _kind_ one – but he can’t help but feeling like Pariston deserves this.

His large hands wind through Pariston’s hair so that Mizaistom can thrust into his mouth. Pariston’s eerie dark eyes stare unblinkingly up at him. _Thank you,_ Mizaistom thinks, _for not having a gag reflex._ So he fucks into Pariston’s mouth, lets his head lean back and gasp as he does so, panting, “This is exactly where you should be, Pariston. On your knees. Sucking me off.”

That is the state Ging finds them in.

To be more accurate: Ging appears at the balcony doors and Mizaistom, in the middle of moaning, makes eye contact with him. Ging has his unimpressed, blank expression, as if he had walked up to them arguing over policy instead of finding Pariston sucking Mizaistom off. To be fair, Mizaistom has slept with Ging and fucked Pariston over a desk, and the whole damn Hunter Assocation knows that Pariston and Ging have a sexual relationship, but – well – he’s never been with both at the same time.

 _Does Ging feel like he’s accidentally witnessed his partner cheating on him? But then who’s cheating on who? Are both of us cheating on Ging? I’m not even in a relationship with Ging! Ging doesn’t do relationships!_ Mizaistom’s mind rolls on in panic while he stares at Ging.

“Yo,” Ging holds up a hand. “Uh, is this a you and Paris thing or can I join in?”

Mizaistom beckons him over in relief.

Ging is just wearing slacks and a button-down shirt (sleeves rolled up and shirt untucked) in comparison to every other man wearing a three-piece suit, but then again, getting Ging to wear anything other than the dusty rags is a miracle.

When Ging kisses him, warm and soft, Mizaistom shudders. It’s too much – Ging is a better kisser than Pariston – it’s too much, being kissed up top and sucked off down below. He’s too close to coming at this, so he tugs on Pariston’s hair and hoarsely orders, “Stop, Pariston.”

Pariston sits back on his heels, licking the pre-cum off his lips. Mizaistom can’t stop himself from whining deep in his throat at the shockingly cold air on his slicked-up cock. Pariston blinks up with his sweet-looking eyes and says, “Oh, Ging, you actually came to the party?”

Ging shrugs. “I didn’t want to be here anyway, which is why I’m out here.”

“I like your attire.”

When Pariston stands up, Ging tugs him by the tie to kiss him deep. It’s intimate and betrays a shocking knowledge of how well they know each other’s bodies. It isn’t surprising to Mizaistom – Ging might as well be the town bicycle of the Association, as crude as that metaphor is – but what is surprising is that, instead of being disgusted or quietly excusing himself, his stomach is curling with heat just watching them.

Pariston has already slipped a hand under Ging’s slacks to finger his clit, Ging spreading his thighs to allow the Rat more access. When Ging pulls away, he asks, “Is that Mizai’s cock I can taste on your tongue?” and then turns dark and wondering eyes to Mizaistom himself, running his tongue over his lips.

Pariston makes a face of pretend shock and offense. “You let him call you Mizai?”

“I’ll let him call me whatever he wants if he would just come over here and touch me.”

Ging kisses Pariston once more, and then pulling away, says, “Nah. Think I’d rather have the real thing.”

Mizaistom has apparently been blessed today, because Ging tugs him down so Mizaistom is sitting on the floor, legs spread and dust on his suit. Ging is on his hands and knees, doing his best to swallow Mizaistom’s cock. Ging has a gag reflex and his mouth is too small for how large Mizaistom’s cock is, but – and this is an awful truth Mizaistom wouldn’t admit unless under oath – Mizaisom likes seeing Ging choke on his cock.

Today will be different and apparently doubly blessed, because Pariston (looking like a wreck) settles behind Ging to roll down his slacks and underwear. “You’re already so wet,” is the last the Rat says, grinning like a cat in the canary mouse, before he sets himself to eating Ging out.

Both Ging and Pariston with their mouths full. Mizaistom could cry for joy.

In fact, Mizaistom likes this even more than he thought he would. Ging whimpers and moans around swallowing cock, and at one point, tears begin rolling down his curved-cheeks from how excellently Pariston is eating him out. Mizaistom has one hand settled very gently in Ging’s bristly hair and with the other, wipes away Ging’s tears.

“You,” Mizaistom murmurs, watching Ging like the marvel he is, “are just a cock-loving whore, aren’t you? You’re desperate for it. You couldn’t go a day without it. I’d like to keep you somewhere locked away and feed you my cock for three square meals. You would beg for my milk.”

When Ging comes, shuddering, eyes rolling up and mouth open, Mizaistom has to take his cock out of Ging’s mouth before he ends up coming straight down it.

When he takes his gaze away from the astoundingly attractive mess Ging has become, he finds Pariston smiling with at him with a piercing stare, having finished with Ging. “You, Mizaistom Nana,” he purrs, “are so much more fucked up inside than you let on.”

Mizaistom glares at him.

He would like to say that the consequences will be just as bad for Pariston as they are for him if anyone catches them having sex, or a recording is leaked of what they say to each other during sex, but he knows that just isn’t true. Pariston gets away with everything.

Ging interrupts by shifting around, so he’s sitting on Mizaistom’s lap and facing Pariston. He looks over his shoulder, disinterest in his eyes even as his cheeks are tear-stained. “You fuck me first, Mizai,” he orders. “Now it’s my turn to suck Paris off.”

Mizaistom is rewarded with how Pariston’s smile slips, as if he had thought he would be the one to fuck Ging first. Mizaistom smiles back and says, “Certainly, Ging.”

If he likes seeing Ging choke on his cock, he loves getting to slide his cock inside Ging. Sex with Pariston is angry and awful and leaves Mizaistom feeling disgusted – with himself, with Pariston, with everything. Sex with Ging is just fun. He suspects that’s why everyone fucks Ging. The man is lovely when he’s too busy moaning to make smart-aleck comments.

Mizaistom stands up, leaning his weight against the balcony and carefully guides his cock inside Ging as he leans back against him. The oral sex has already made him wet enough for penetrative sex, but Mizaistom is – how to say this – generously endowed. He has to ensure his partner isn’t hurt in the process.

Thankfully, Ging is fiercely hot around him, but not too tight. The Boar is shamelessly moaning already as Mizaistom tentatively thrusts before sliding into a good rhythm. He’s learning Ging’s body well. It’s good, because he definitely has no lube on him – they’re at a party, for the Association’s sake and at any minute someone else could walk in on them. Ging wouldn’t have any lube either. Mizaistom wouldn’t put it past Pariston to carry lube on him, if only because it’s Pariston.

Pariston, who still isn’t smiling like he usually does, even as Ging is greedily swallowing his cock.

What a splendid sight this is, Ging taking two cocks from either end. Why didn’t they think of doing this before? This is practically what Ging has been made for.

Mizaistom rubs circles into Ging’s waist with his thumbs as he thrusts into him, in and out. “I’d love to get you pregnant,” he says, eyes hazy. “Spill my milk right into you and watch your stomach grow heavy with my child. Then when you’ve had my child, I would just knock you up again. Breed you like a cow. Waste every single one of your incredible talents because we all just want to claim you.”

His bad habit of saying too much during sex has been out in force tonight. It’s true. The vast majority of the people having sex with Ging just do it because it feels like claiming him, like the physical closeness of the activity translates in any way to Ging’s emotional attachment. As if by watching the famous Ging Freecss fall apart in a bed gives any insight into how his genius mind works.

Mizaistom looks up and Pariston is outright glaring at him.

Pariston has smiled at him, Pariston has not smiled at him but Pariston has never glared at him.

“No,” says Pariston sharply and takes his cock out of Ging’s mouth. Ging whines. “Turn around so that you’re facing Mizaistom, Ging.”

Mizaistom is a little bit unnerved by Pariston’s glare but mostly horny, so they both comply. Soon Mizaistom has an armful of Ging, leaning heavy on the balcony, just hoping that he can support Ging’s weight like this. He thrusts into Ging, hands on his ass and gets to watch Ging’s eyes dilate up close.

Ging yelps. “Pariston,” he says, high-pitched. “What are you doing.”

Pariston shushes him. “I have lube,” is all he says and Ging and Mizaistom stare straight into each other’s eyes in realisation. “And also I don’t really care if you’re hurt, Ging.”

It takes a few minutes of applying lube and easing in, but very soon Pariston has slid his cock right into Ging’s ass.

Ging is trembling all over, mouth open with incoherent moans coming from him as both Mizaistom and Pariston fuck into him. He’s an absolute mess, sent to hell with pleasure and pain and Mizaistom is very very thankful to be here to witness this. It’s strange, trying to match Pariston’s rhythm so that they’re thrusting at the same time, but nothing a bit of practice couldn’t fix. Well. Assuming this happens in the future. Again.

Pariston’s hands have settled on Mizaistom’s waist and leans over Ging to kiss the Cow Zodiac. He tastes like sharp salt, like Ging, and while Mizaistom should be disgusted, he’s just more turned on than ever. Having two bodies so close to him like this, all wrapped up in one another, is – beyond words.

Mizaistom, panting, murmurs into Ging’s ear, “Is it alright if I come inside?”

“Yes, yes, yes, just fuck me harder, you damn cow, right there, _yes_.”

When Mizaistom finally comes, the inside of his eyelids scattered with fireworks, he doesn’t know which name he calls out.

When they return to the party, everyone looks as if they had simply spent some time outside in the fresh air, arguing about policy or Ging’s lack of responsibility. Pariston has tucked his shirt back in and done up his blazer and it’s a good thing none of them decided to leave hickies in noticeable places tonight.

Mizaistom returns to his place by Cheadle’s side. “I’m sick of those two idiots,” he complains to her, a glass of water in hand. “The Zodiacs would be better off without them.”

Cheadle looks at him, dog’s nose twitching and raises an eyebrow at him, clearly meant to say, _oh really?_

Mizaistom stares back and hopes to hell that he doesn’t smell of sex.


End file.
